


please disregard any undeserved compliments

by awwpants



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Desire Demons (Dragon Age), Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-01 18:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16289939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awwpants/pseuds/awwpants
Summary: For a prompt on the da kink meme circa 2015: A rift pops up in Skyhold and while the demons are fought off and the rift closed easily enough, a pesky little desire demon's last act is to make everyone fighting off the demons love Cullen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in 2015 for the kink meme and when I got to the part where I was editing it my laptop died taking with it all the edits/rewrites and my motivation to start over. anyway it's three years later and I'm kind of annoyed at myself for never even _trying_ to finish this up and post it. so, I guess if the person I wrote this for ever sees it: I am so so sorry there really is no excuse (_　_|||)

The days are getting longer and warmer with the arrival of spring, but it's the light breeze from the open doors that's keeping Cullen awake. He's always found some measure of pride in his ability to focus on the task at hand, seeing it through to the end, and that the work is finished in a timely and effective manner. However, five pages into a thirty-three page report on the proper stone to use in bridge reconstruction and he's ready to throw himself at the mercy of the Maker. This is it, this is the battle he cannot win: the tedium of paperwork.

Worst of all, when it's over and he's finally through with the blighted report and the stack of equally, if not more, soporific reports to follow there would only be more waiting for him. As much as he's always grateful for the relative safety inside of Skyhold's keep there's a part of him that longs for the adventures he's left to read about.

With a sigh he flips back to the first page and signs his name at the bottom. No amount of reading on the different types of stone and their common uses and function will ever help him to understand why he should care. He trusts his people and their judgment in these matters anyway. 

The chair creaks as he leans back, stretching his arms above him and yawning wide enough to crack his jack. These days he feels older than his years and, if he's honest with himself, it's been that way for a long time now. Such is the burden of, well, nearly every decision he's made in his adult life.

The sound of horses riding in to Skyhold catches his attention and before he can do anything one of his soldiers pokes their head into the open doorway and informs him of the Inquisitor's return. He stands, nodding at the soldier as he passes on his way down the steps toward the stables, intent on meeting Inquisitor Lavellan.

Above, the sky is orange-pink with the setting sun and it's the first time that Cullen has noticed how late the day has gotten. Cassandra offers him a smile as they pass each other near the front gate, though she seems far more preoccupied with removing her gauntlets. They're stained red, flecks of dried blood peeling off, and bits of matter fur clinging to the metal fastenings. There are, of course, some benefits to not having to do any fieldwork, he decides, stepping over a small piece of what may be entrails that have come loose from the bottom of Cassandra's shoe.

"Cullen," says Dorian, smiling at him as he approaches the stables.

He greets Dorian with a nod, then turns to Lavellan as she tends to her horse. "My soldiers hope to have the bridge in the Emprise du Lion. completed by the end of the month," he says, trying to sound equal parts charming and professional.

"That's good to hear," says Lavellan, distracted by a finicky mare and the knotted straps of her saddle. Eventually she sighs and waves over one of Dennet's apprentices to finish up for her, and startles when she sees Cullen, like she'd forgotten he was there. "Did you come down here only to tell me that? You don't have to go out of you way just to pass along information, I'm sure you have more important things to do."

"It's no bother," he says.

"If you're sure..." Lavellan trails off, having noticed the large tear in her sleeve and pulling at the loose threads.

"Eye's bright, beautiful, but not looking at me. It hurts, but sometimes love does. I don't understand."

"Ah, yes, I thinks it's time we go find the tavern, don't you, Cole?" Dorian says, taking Cole by the shoulders and gently steering him away. Cullen hadn't even been aware that Cole was with the Inquisitor’s party.

"The tavern isn't lost," says Cole, "it knows exactly where it should be."

Cullen watches as Cole follows Dorian up the stairs and wonders how many more of his secrets does that boy know and how many of them has he shared with the Inquisitor or any others. He straightens his back and tries to ignore the warmth in his cheeks. "I thought I'd walk with you to the war room, since we're both headed there."

"Of course," says Lavellan. She pats her horse a final time before exiting the stables, heading off toward the keep's interior. "I've been meaning to ask you; how have you been? The last time we spoke you weren't doing so well with the withdrawal and were talking about going back on lyrium."

"Right," he would have preferred a more pleasant topic, but, "I wish you hadn't seen me like that. I will continue to manage, as I have been."

"If you're sure," she says, lowering her voice as they reach the main hall. Too many ears always listening for the next piece of gossip. "A lot of people here care for you a great deal. If you ever need anything, I know that any one of them, including myself, will be here for you."

"That's—" Cullen stops, unsure of what to say. "Thank you." He holds the door to Josephine's office open for Lavellan and once she's turned her focus away from him and onto Josephine, he uses the time to collect himself. Knowing that he has friends willing to bear his burdens with him is still something of a shock.

"Cullen?" Josephine calls for him, standing at the other side of the room, waiting for him. The Inquisitor is at her side, arms folded, patient as always.

He steps away from the door and follows them into the war room.

*

The flame on the candle dances, alive, mesmerizing, then begins to grow smaller as the wick reaches its end and, finally, Cullen has to look away. He blinks, attempting to chase away the spots in his vision. His mind keeps wandering from subject to subject, not settling on anything in particular, and distracting him from the task of allocating resources, specifically soldiers, to different parts of Ferelden and Orlais. It's not too important, at least nothing that can't wait until morning, but the idea of getting it out of the way now has some appeal.

There's a knock at the door and Dorian enters without waiting for an answer. "Good," he says, "you're here and not off having fun with everyone else. I had been worried that you would discover the joys of socializing in my absence." Music carries through the air, out from the tavern, and serves to emphasize the fun that Cullen isn't having while he sits alone in his tower.

"The Chantry never taught us about fun," Cullen says. "We only ever learned about the evils of magic, how to spot an apostate at twenty paces, and praying to the Maker in solitude."

Dorian glances from Cullen to the pile of unfinished reports on the desk to the empty room around them, and back to Cullen. "I honestly can't tell if you're making a joke. I'm feeling rather sorry for you right now, either way."

"Is there something you need?"

"Of course," says Dorian, stepping further into the office and shutting the door. "You see, I found this statuette of a mabari in some dusty old tomb and, well, I thought it might be valuable, or at least worth keeping as souvenir from the time I spent walking around a dusty old tomb. Anyway," he hands the statuette over to Cullen, "you Fereldens love dogs, don't you?"

It's carved from onyx and inlaid with gold and polished bloodstone. Even in the candlelight Cullen can see all of the fine details etched into the stone, giving it a sense of life. "This is for me?"

"Yes," says Dorian. "Do you like it?"

"I do, thank you."

Dorian looks at him in a way he can't interpret, head tilted to the side and eyebrows slightly scrunched together, but before Cullen has a chance to ask about it the sky tears open. There's a flash of green light and a sound like static from magical energy and for a moment everything seems frozen, the calm before the storm. In the next moment Cullen is out the door, sword and shield in hand, with Dorian right at his heels.

"Get the Inquisitor," Cullen yells to one of the soldiers staring slack-jawed up at the rift. He has to grab the young man to force his attention away, and repeat, "the Inquisitor. _Now_."

Another loud crack from the rift and it split open completely signaling the beginning of the flood of demons. Wraiths mostly, a dozen or so, but more lurk behind the veil biding their time. Cullen cuts down one, then swings his sword into another slicing upward through the despair demon's abdomen. It shrieks at him, breath smelling of ash and cold, and Cullen has to push forward, putting his weight into it, to cleave the demon in two. When it's gone his sword chills his hand and his shield is covered in in ice. From the corner of his eye he can see Blackwall slam into a shade, forcing it away from the stables.

"Behind you!" Dorian shouts, giving Cullen just enough time to turn and raise his shield.

Whatever slams into him does so with enough force to send shockwaves up his arm. There's fire and ash and smoke that fills his nose and mouth as Dorian burns the demon away. He doesn't have his staff and with his next spell, more fire and heat, the area around them lights up as it burns. Cullen can see that Dorian's fingers are red, blistered, from having to expel all of his magic through only his hands.

Demons continue to pour out from the rift and there are still too few people awake and armed, ready to help, though their numbers are growing. In the back of his mind Cullen begins to form an evacuation plan, even while he prays that it won't come to that. More soldiers join the fight, though many of them are new to the Inquisition, and many more are without armor. There's little time to check each face, and too dark to see anyway, but he recognises some of them and knows they only joined after the siege at Haven and have barely fought against a human let alone faced anything from the fade. This will serve as a chance for these soldiers to prove their worth.

There's a shriek, high-pitched, like broken glass over a death rattle, and it turns his blood cold in his veins. Cullen steels himself, preparing for another attack, but an arrow flies past his head and embeds itself in the demon's skull, right between its eyes. All six of them. He knows without having to look that it was Leliana who fired the shot, but when another arrow comes from the other side, tearing through the demon's exposed jugular, then he does have to check. It's Sera, high up on the ramparts. The cavalry has arrived.

"Inquisitor!" Cullen yells when he spots her running into the fray. "We can hold them off for now, but if the rift isn't sealed soon then we'll be overrun."

Lavellan comes to a stop at his side, staring up at the rift. "Understood."

They're still outnumbered, but their odds are starting to look better. Demons are familiar territory for Cullen, enough so that he can almost lose himself in the momentum of battle. But he's also aware of what they can do when someone lets their guard down. He blocks with his shield, then strikes with his sword, and it's easy to believe that they can win this and anything else thrown at them.

He almost doesn't see it, almost pretends that he can't, when the desire demon steps out from the rift. It's grey and pale and impossibly beautiful as they always are. Cullen can't _think_ , can't make himself look away. Even with the images of desire demons burned into his mind, refusing to let him forget, there's still an allure, a pull. It has noticed him.

_No_ , he says, but it's not spoken and even as the word dies on his tongue he knows it is too weak. "No," he says again, a hoarse whisper barely making it out of his throat.

The demon only smiles, grin too wide, teeth too sharp. It's terrifying and perfect. It reaches out to him closer than it should be. He hadn't seen it move.

"Precious thing," it says, caressing his cheek, and Cullen wants to curl up in its embrace, but he cannot. He will not. Not now, not ever. He raises his sword and pushes it into the demon, right below where a human heart would be. There's no resistance, it's too easy, and the blade goes clean through to the other side and out.

It screams as it dies and the sound echoes like laughter inside his skull.

"Cullen!" someone screams, but he can't make out the voice. Everything is too sharp, too bright, and it's only when the light dims does he realise that it was there at all.

The Inquisitor is in front of him, but it's Dorian at his side keeping him standing. The demons are gone. Every last one of them, along with the rift they came from.

"What happened?"

"Good question," says Dorian. "There were demons everywhere, then a desire demon sort of—"

"Exploded?" Lavellan shrugs. "Popped?"

"Yes, that. There was a blinding light and you, Commander, were in the center of it." Dorian sounds concerned and angry in equal measure, but Cullen isn't sure whether it's directed at him or the situation they're in.

"And the rest of the demons?" Cullen asks.

"Gone," says Lavellan. She looks around, then up to where the rift had been only moment before. "When I could see again, it was all gone."

"Right." Cullen removes himself from Dorian's hold, though the lingering effect of whatever happened has left him a little disoriented. He sways on his feet as the world tilts and shifts under him, but regains his balance before toppling to the ground. "We'll have to do a sweep through Skyhold; make sure nothing remains. Our people are supposed to be safe here."

"Our people understand that there are some things we cannot protect them from," Leliana says, joining their little group.

"We should be able to!"

"Cullen," says Lavellan, placing her hand over his arm, not quite touching.

He knows they're concerned, can see it written across their faces, but he's angry at himself and more than that he's afraid. It's an old fear reaching out to him from a memory of not enough years ago and laced with a bitter desire. "I'll get my soldiers and begin the search," he says.

"Hold on—"

"Dorian, don't," says Lavellan.

"He can't think that," Dorian grabs Cullen by the wrist, fingers warm against his skin. "You could be hurt. We don't know what that desire demon did or any effect it may have. Don't you think we should _maybe_ try to figure that out?"

Cullen jerks his arm back, out of Dorian's hold. "It can wait until tomorrow."

*

Cullen isn't sure what wakes him up: the loud knocking on the door coming from the room below, or the sunlight streaming in through the hole in the roof and landing directly onto his eyes. At first he doesn't move, just continues to lay there gathering any motivation to leave his bed at all. _Responsibilities_ , he thinks, _duty_ , maybe. _Food_. The knocking grows louder during his contemplation, becoming more of an outright banging, and finally he manages to roll out of bed.

The drawstring on his trousers had come loose in his sleep and he has to use one hand to keep them from falling from his hips as he climbs the ladder into his office. "Hold on," he says, taking a moment to retie the lace and hoping that somehow he won't look as though he's just woken up.

"Good, you're not dead," Dorian says when Cullen lets him into the room. "I've been worried since you stormed off last night. Demons and fade rifts are bad enough without adding an element of mystery on top. Now will you please allow me to make sure that you continue to not be dead?"

"It's early, Dorian, can't this wait until later?"

"It's midday," says Dorian. "This _is_ later."

"Oh." That would explain why the sunlight had been on his face instead of the wall behind him as it usually was. Cullen scratches at the stubble on his chin, and gives in to the yawn he'd been trying to suppress, and has the sudden, startling realisation that the trousers he's wearing are very old and very thin and leave little left to the imagination. He glances down at himself and shifts he weight from one foot to the other.

"Your virtue is safe with me, _Commander_ ," Dorian snaps.

"That's not— I didn't say anything."

"No, but you're far too easy to read."

Cullen lets out a frustrated sigh. "I only thought that it might not be the best idea for me to be practically naked in front of other members of the Inquisition. Once was already more than I'd like. I wasn't thinking about _you_."

"No," says Dorian, "you wouldn't." Cullen can't tell if that's supposed to be a concession or an accusation, but Dorian takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "If you would sit down, I'll make this quick."

Cullen takes a seat at the edge of his desk, careful not to knock anything over. "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry."

"Consider it forgotten," says Dorian. "I'll have to use magic for this," he adds, stopping before he reaches Cullen. "Is that all right?"

"It's fine," Cullen says, though he has to remind himself not to tense up or pull away. With anyone else, he's not sure he could keep himself so still, but he trusts Dorian with his life and that makes everything easier.

Dorian nods, pressing his hand flat against Cullen's chest. Tendrils of magic stretch out from his palm, glowing blue and pulsing in time with his beating heart. Carefully he begins tracing sigils and runes into Cullen's skin, leaving sparks and flurries of magic in the wake of his fingers. It's beautiful and when Cullen looks up at Dorian's face, concentrating on what he's doing, it's mesmerizing. He's never seen Dorian like this before.

He's warm all over and his heartbeat picks up and is reflected in the quickening pulses of Dorian's magic. "What are you doing?" he asks, voice softer than he'd intended.

"Checking for possession, mostly. Making absolutely sure that you're not a demon disguised as Commander Cullen; that sort of thing." The glow fades and the magic dissipates and when Dorian takes his hand away he leaves Cullen feeling colder. "No demons," he says, but he's frowning.

"Usually people are happy about that."

"I am happy about that, believe me," Dorian says. "However, I don't know what happened last night and that worries me."

"Maybe it was nothing."

"When have you ever know it to be nothing with a desire demon?"

"Fair point," Cullen says, getting up from the desk. "Thank you, for this. Caring about me."

"I have precious few friends and I'd like to keep the ones that I do have alive."

"Then I am glad to have you looking out for me."

For a moment Cullen thinks Dorian is going to say something else; his mouth is open, lips parted, but then there's another knock at the door and Dorian's expression shifts, becoming neutral and distant.

"Well, I should be leaving," Dorian says and heads for the door. When he opens it, he pauses briefly, back going stiff, then relaxing as he says "Inquisitor," in greeting and continues walking out.

Cullen considers going after him, but when Lavellan steps into the room, taking Dorian's place, she shuts the door _hard_ and Cullen's mind is suddenly on an entirely different subject. Specifically the way Lavellan is looking at him, focusing on his naked chest and then lower. He only just resists the urge to cover himself.

"Inquisitor," he says, the same moment that she says, "Cullen."

"Sorry," he laughs, feeling out of place and awkward in front of the Inquisitor. "Is there something you need?"

"Yes," she says, closer than she had been. Her hand rests against his cheek in a caress, and when she speaks her breath is warm against his lips. "I needed to see you."

The kiss is expected, yet it catches him by surprise anyway. In a way it's almost chaste, but he can feel her fingers trailing down his chest and her nails scratching against his skin. She stops at the waistband of his trousers, and Cullen thinks that's as far as she'll go until there's a tug at the laces as she tries to undo the knot.

He breathes in, sharp, and pulls away so they're no longer touching. "This is..." he doesn't know what to say. "A little fast, perhaps. I don't know what you want."

"I want you, isn't that enough?"

"You've never shown any interest in me this way before."

Lavellan presses forward, closing the short distance between them. "I am now," she says. "I've been thinking about you all day and I know you want me, too. I've seen the way you look at me."

"I find you attractive, yes, but I am not willing to—" he grasps for the right way to say what he wants, "to fall into bed with you. Not without," romance, love, "more."

"I never said it had to be in a bed." She reaches out to him again, but stops, dropping her hand to her side. "I'm sorry, Cullen," Lavellan says, frowning. "I don't know what I—" her features smooth out and her smile returns. "I understand, but please consider my offer. We could have a lot of fun."

Cullen waits for the Inquisitor to leave before climbing the ladder back up into his bedroom. There's an odd, nervous energy running through his nerves as he drops down onto his bed and touches the angry red lines on his skin from Lavellan's nails. It takes a few minutes before he's ready to start the day again.

*

The next few hours are spent in a haze as Cullen's mind constantly flits from one thought to the next. There's Dorian and his concerns, the Inquisitor and her behaviour, ideas on how to bolster security in Skyhold, and soldier assignments and resource allocations for the coming week. He lets his eyes drift shut, hoping to regain his focus on the work he should be doing. As his breathing evens out he feels the desire for sleep pulling him in, but he's not alone.

Cullen's eyes snap open and he stands up, knocking his chair over backwards; the sound of wood hitting stone breaks the silence in the room. The image of the desire demon fades in his mind like a dream.

He needs to clear his head.

It's not until he's halfway to the gardens does Cullen realise that is where he's heading. He'd meant only to walk around outside of the closed-in space of his office, maybe check in with the soldiers and see how training the rookies was coming along. Perhaps this is a better idea.

The garden in mostly empty. Two young mages are sitting by the far wall huddled over a book, whispering together and laughing, and one of the visiting nobles is stretched out on a bench, face tilted up toward the afternoon sun, asleep. The whole area smells like elfroot and ginger and then fresh turned soil when he gets closer to his usual table in the shade where he often plays chess against Dorian. Someone has planted new flowers.

Cullen sits and collects the small, carved chess pieces and begins to arrange them on the board, intending to play a match against himself. But a shadow falls over the table and when he looks up it's to see a man he recognises as one brought in with the rest of the rebel mages. The way he's staring, though, puts Cullen on edge.

"Commander," the man says, smiling, lips stretched thin over teeth that are too big, too sharp. "I've been thinking about you." He runs his fingers down the side of Cullen's face, along his jaw.

"Excuse me?" Cullen brushes the man's hand off, but unable to look away.

"Well this certainly looks interesting," Dorian says, placing himself between the other mage and Cullen, leaning his hip against the table. The moment snaps and falls away. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Sorry, I—" The man blinks, looking at Dorian and appearing more human than he had moments before. "It's nothing, I was just leaving."

When he's gone, Dorian turns to Cullen, eyebrow raised. "What was that about?"

"I'm not sure," Cullen says. "Did anything seem off about him?"

"Off?"

"I mean, was there anything about his face that looked... _wrong?_ "

Dorian makes a small, thoughtful noise and takes the seat across from him. "Nothing more than his usual pallor and untrimmed beard. You southerners are very pale."

"I see."

"I know him, a little," Dorian says, moving his white knight without having given even a brief glance at the board. "His name is Marcus. When he first arrived he kept asking me about the differences between magic in Tevinter and magic here in Ferelden."

"He certainly didn't have any questions for me," Cullen says, moving his pawn and taking the knight that Dorian had just played.

"Perhaps he wasn't aware of your feelings about mages," says Dorian, making several illegal moves with his bishop.

Cullen frowns, more at what Dorian has said rather than his unique style of chess. "I have no issue with any of the mages here. The Inquisitor is a mage."

"I, also, am a mage if you have forgotten."

"Really? You mean that flashy stick you carry around _isn't_ a fashionable Tevinter sword? Why this changes everything!"

Dorian sighs and shakes his head. "I do hope no one has told you that you're funny. I'd hate to think you have been lied to all these years."

"That's why you're here," Cullen says, taking one of Dorian's pawns. "You keep me humble."

"It's the least I can do," says Dorian. He picks up his queen and instead of placing it on another spot, he uses it to point at Cullen. "What are you doing out here, anyway?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"You could, but I recall asking you first."

Cullen shrugs. "Honestly, I'm not really sure."

Dorian studies him for a few seconds, but doesn't ask anything more. "Elfroot," he says, setting down his queen and pulling a sprig of it from a small pouch. "I need it for a poultice." He holds his hand out and Cullen can see where the tips of his fingers are still red from his own fire spells.

"Back in the circle apprentices weren't given a staff until they passed their harrowing," Cullen says, reaching across the table for Dorian's hand. There are older, lighter scars crisscrossing his palm, only partially hidden by the newer burns. "I never knew what that meant for them."

"No, I don't imagine it's covered in your training as a templar."

"It should have been."

Dorian's laugh is hollow, though not insincere. "Would that have made any difference?"

"I don't know," Cullen answers honestly. It would be nice to think that it would have made a difference, but perhaps that’s not a lie he’s willing to tell himself. 

"You're not that man anymore," Dorian says. "Obviously, I didn't know you then, but seeing as you've yet to smite me, I'd say you've changed for the better. And with the Inquisitor, the rebel mages, and myself most of all, you're practically a friend to mages everywhere."

Cullen leans back in his chair, releasing Dorian's hand. "I'm honored by your approval."

"I'm here to serve the Inquisition in any way I can. Encouraging words are the very least that I can do."

Cullen laughs, intent on continuing the joke, but hesitates. There is something he wants to share, and maybe Dorian can offer some insight. "Earlier, after you left, the Inquisitor kissed me."

"Ah," says Dorian. "I'm happy for you. It's obvious to anyone that you're fond of her."

Cullen wants to deny he's been obvious about anything, but that isn't his real concern. "I mean, the way she was acting was strange."

"Yes, certainly, that the Inquisitor would ever find you handsome or charming. Perish the thought."

"That's not what I—"

"As fun as this is, poultices can be finicky and I've little talent for them," Dorian says, standing. "I really must get started on that."

"What?" Cullen gets up and follows after Dorian.

"Forgive me for not having time to hear about your love life right now."

"Are you angry with me? Did I do something?"

"Believe it or not my emotional state does not revolve around you," says Dorian. "I told you what I was doing."

"It just seems as though I’ve made you angry somehow."

They stop at Dorian's room on the second floor above the gardens and Cullen lingers in the doorway, unsure if he should enter. There are books piled up in every corner and even more on the bed, open with the pages down against the blankets. Cinnamon and oak permeate the air. Subtle, but hard to miss. Cullen has never once been in here before.

"If I did anything..."

"You didn't." Dorian's back is to him as he puts together the elfroot and a variety of other ingredients that Cullen is unfamiliar with.

Someone exits the room next to Dorian's and neither of them pay it any notice until the woman, one of Leliana's spies, is standing at Cullen's side. _Annie_ , his mind supplies when he tries to recall her name. It's useless trivia, really, when she takes his face between her hands and leans in to kiss him.

"What are you doing?" he asks, pushing her off and holding her at arms length. 

Instead of answering she smiles, slips out of his hold, and walks away.

Dorian clears his throat. "Does that happen often?"

"It didn't used to," Cullen says, frowning.

"Well that's interesting," Dorian says, but his words fade out as a low ringing starts in Cullen's ears, tearing through his skull and leaving him off balance. It's come on too fast to be the withdrawal, yet that's what it feels like.

"Cullen? _Commander?_ "

The desire demon carefully pulls him into its embrace and Cullen blinks, gasping for breath as his heart thuds in his chest. The only other person there is Dorian, standing close, but not touching, concern painted over his face.

"I—" Cullen steps back, out of the doorway. "I should speak with Leliana about her people."

"What? Are you alright?"

Cullen stumbles off without answering. It's only the lyrium, it has to be. The pain in his head has settled at the base of his skull, but he can feel it spreading to his temples and down his spine. Soon everything else will hurt, too, and he won't fit inside of himself the way that he should. He keeps moving through the pain, fighting the nausea, up toward the rookery to find Leliana.

She's not there, however, and when he asks a woman, an elf he's never met, she tells him that Leliana is with Josephine. There are hands that touch him, brush against his back, his thighs, lingering on his arms, but when he looks there's no one close enough to touch.

Leliana is standing to the side of Josephine's desk and when Cullen walks it their conversation ends abruptly. "Cullen," she says, crossing her arms over her chest and _studying_ him. "You are unwell."

"One of your spies kissed me," Cullen says and when it's out of his mouth he realises how ridiculous he must sound.

"Oh?" Leliana is smiling, unconcerned. "Surely that is no problem for you."

"It is when I barely even know the woman."

"Perhaps you would prefer a woman you do know," says Josephine. She pushes her chair back from the desk, but remains sitting.

Leliana circles him, running her fingers along the back of his neck. "Is that what you want?" She's too close, right behind him, but when her turns to see her she moves with him, remaining just out of sight. "You're under so much stress, you need someone to take care of you, _Cullen_ ," she whispers and his name sounds like poison on her tongue.

Josephine laughs, drawing his attention. "I would think he needs someone a bit more gentle, don't you think?"

"I can be gentle," Leliana says playfully, like it's all a joke at his expense. "I can be _very_ gentle, if that's what you need."

"Excuse me," Cullen says, putting distance between them and slips out of the room with their laughter trailing behind him.

*

By the next day Cullen's headache has worsened into a migraine, throbbing in his temples. Everything is too bright and too loud, and inside his armor his skin feels too hot. He's supposed to be watching his more experienced soldiers train the newer recruits, but the sounds of metal against metal and the sun beaming down on them pushes the limits of what he can manage. Even with Cassandra there to help. Officially she's just a friend and skilled warrior of the Inquisitor's inner circle overseeing the practice fight, but the reality is that she's there for him.

Cassandra puts a hand on his shoulder, no more or less casual than what he's used to with her. "Are you sure you wish to stay out here? No one will blame you for taking a day off."

"That won't be necessary."

She narrows her eyes, not quite believing him. "Do not push yourself so far because you think you have to."

"I will consider that," Cullen says, acquiescing as much as he is willing to, for now.

"That is all I ask," she says, taking her hand from his shoulder and lightly running her fingers down his arm. She's looking at him for a reaction as well, a smile on her lips. It's not the same as how the others had acted, but it's not exactly how Cassandra acts either. "Keep your shield up," she calls to one of the recruits, finally turning away.

Cullen knows he should listen to Cassandra's advice, but it's his stubbornness that keeps him where he is. With the pain in his head, the ache in his muscles, and the nausea in his gut he becomes distracted from the soldiers around him, but when he regains his focus he become aware of one specific thing. 

They're all watching him.

The soldiers in the ring are looking to him more than they are at their opponent. The recruits waiting their turn, the chantry sister at the steps leading into the keep, the elf who works in the kitchen, men and women whose faces he recognises but names he doesn't know. They carry on as they normally would, but he can see them, all of them, as they keep turning their gaze toward him. From across the courtyard Cullen makes eye contact with the chantry sister and she grins so wide it splits her face. It's him that has to look away first.

He intends to tell Cassandra that he will be taking the day for himself, but he spots Dorian coming up from the lower courtyard and heading for the tavern and he finds he's walking over to meet him without really thinking about it. "Are you still angry with me?" he asks, cutting Dorian off before he reaches the door.

"You were the one who ran off yesterday, and I was never angry with you," Dorian says, sidestepping him. "Now I'm hoping the rather unpleasant dwarf at the bar will have something better than that stale horse piss you Fereldens call ale." He stops, only just noticing Cullen, eyes going wide. "You look terrible; are you sick?"

"I'm _fine_ ," Cullen responds. "It's nothing."

"You say that, but I think you might be dying." Dorian reaches up like he's going to touch him, then draws back and asks, "Can I?"

Cullen hesitates, old fears of magic lingering long after he knows who he can trust. It always has a way of reminding him that he's powerless, but he nods, once, and says, "Yes."

Dorian presses cold magic against his temples that seeps into his skull and tempers the fire in his skin as it runs down his spine like water, cool and gentle, spreading out over his ribs and reaching inside of him. It settles in his chest and remains even when Dorian take his hands away. It's not a cure, but Cullen feels lighter, more steady on his feet, than he has in days.

"That was," Cullen starts, opening his eyes.

"Nothing special, although if you wish to thank me I will accept."

"Thank you."

"Anything for a friend..." Dorian trails off, attention elsewhere.

That's when Cullen realises that all sounds of people working, training, speaking, have ceased. Every single person around them has stopped what they are doing to focus entirely on the two of them. A soldier has his training sword raised, mid attack against another soldier with her shield held up to block the blow that isn't coming. Even Cassandra is staring.

"Well this is strange," Dorian says as one by one they all return to their normal activities as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He sounds far too casual, but a glance at his face betrays how unnerved he truly is.

"I was starting to think it was all in my head," says Cullen, relieved to know it's not.

"That was definitely not in your head." Dorian takes off for the keep, pausing when Cullen doesn't immediately follow. "Do come on, you can make yourself useful."

Cullen rolls his eyes, but goes with him because there is little that would make him stay. The feeling of being watched persists, however, continuing once they're inside and up into the library. There are only a handful of people between the bookshelves and all of them shift, angling themselves toward him when he enters.

"How long has this been going on? It is you, isn't it?" Dorian asks, ushering Cullen into the alcove that he's claimed as his own. "Was it only today or— that woman yesterday, yes? And the mage in the garden?"

Cullen nods. "The Inquisitor as well, I think."

"Fascinating," Dorian says. He looks thoughtful for a moment, then he starts pulling books from the shelves. "It must be that desire demon. Trust a demon to outstay their welcome, though I've never heard of anything like this..."

"Can we stop it?"

"Of course we can," Dorian says. "Probably."

Cullen takes the small stack of books handed to him and turns the first one over to check the cover. "You are aware that I don't speak a word of Tevene, right?"

"Kaffas." Dorian takes the book, tosses it on top of his chair, and places a different one on top of Cullen's stack.

"I understood that one," Cullen mutters, flipping through the pages of the new book. From the corner of his eye he can see over the railing and down onto the floor below where Solas is quietly looking back at him. The expression on his face sends ice creeping up his spine and Cullen shudders, stepping further into Dorian's space.

Eventually Dorian finishes his search of relevant texts in the library and sits down in his more comfortable chair while Cullen has to make do with the floor. He gets lost in reading about demons and magic and magical theory versus its real or practical uses. It's new, all of it, and a glimpse into what Dorian must have spent a lifetime studying. Though most of what they have available in Skyhold is written by people like himself, Andrastians brought up to fear magic and those beliefs are reflected in the writing. There are still many things he'd never been taught by the Chantry.

At some point between Cullen's third and fourth book a young man brings a tray of food, setting it down beside him and then running off without a word. Most of what's on the tray are cheeses and breads, with a few slices of meats and a small bowl of fresh berries. Also included is a bottle of wine which Dorian takes immediately, pouring a glass for them both.

"It would seem there are _some_ benefits to be had," Dorian says.

Cullen pushes the tray so it's centered between them, grabs some of the cheese for himself, and goes back to reading. Magic has always been something to be feared and even more so mages who wield their magic greater than any warrior with a sword, but he'd never really thought that magic could be _mundane_. It's almost unsettling to learn there are a great number of spells just for washing clothes. He sighs, closing one book and picking up another.

Mages like the Inquisitor and Dorian are difficult for him to imagine using their power for anything so unspectacular. But they are more than just tools of magic and that's not something easily unlearned.

Hours later, when Cullen finally reaches the end of his small pile of books, three things become apparent at once. One, the hour is late and the sun has gone down; two, Dorian is asleep and likely has been for some time; three, there a more people in the library now than when he last looked.

Cullen stands, joints cracking from sitting on the ground for hours. "Dorian, wake up," he says, lightly shaking Dorian awake.

There's whispering from the other side of the library, loud enough the Cullen can hear it, and he turns in time to see two women hurrying out the door. When he turns back, Dorian is awake, blinking his eyes to adjust to the light. "This place is usually empty by now," he says carefully. "We should probably leave."

"I didn't find anything useful," Cullen says, cleaning up the mess of food and books.

"Neither did I," says Dorian. "It's times like these that I truly miss my homeland and our vast libraries with entire wings dedicated to demonology."

They part ways at the bottom of the stairs and Cullen heads back to his own quarters. He nearly manages to avoid running into anyone, but Sera is seated on the landing on the stairs overlooking the courtyard using her bow to shoot old fruit into the area below.

"Hi, you," she says with a friendly wave as he passes. It's the nicest she's ever been to him.

"Goodnight, Sera," he says, and makes his way back into his office without seeing anyone else.

Cullen strips his armor off, crawls into bed, and falls asleep in an instant. Then, what could only be minutes later, but may in reality be over an hour, Cullen wakes up to the sound of someone slowly ascending the ladder from his office. He reaches over the side of his bed, grabs his sword, and sits up, pointing it at the intruder.

"Hey, no need for that," says Sera.

"What are you doing here?"

Sera shrugs and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. "I was just thinking we never hang out, yeah? Not like," she stops talking to make kissing noises, adding a few hand gestures in case he didn't understand the first part, "because that'd be real gross. You're all like--” she puffs up her chest and scrunches her face into an odd and serious expression which is as confusing as it is insulting. “And your _hair_. But friends, you know? You could be one of my friends."

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Cullen asks, falling back, head hitting the pillow, and still holding his sword.

"Late? I don't know."

"Please, leave."

"But—"

"Sera," he says. "Go."

"Fine," she says. "We'll talk about it later, grumpytits."

Cullen waits until he hears her climb down the ladder and walk out the door before he finally drops his sword. Groaning, he rolls over and tries to fall back asleep.

*

Every noise, every crunch of stone and dirt under the foot of the night watchmen, every gust of wind through the broken rafters above his bed, _everything_ has him on alert. Nothing in Skyhold feels right and it leaves him claustrophobic, desperate to get out.

Without thinking, Cullen leaps out of bed and quickly throws on what clothes he can find in the dark, skipping his armor to save time. Stealth is not a skillset of his, but with little light to guide him or anyone else who may be awake at this hour, he does the best he can crossing the grounds without being seen. The sky is already getting lighter and the sun isn't far behind, and with it the earliest risers in the keep. He will have to make this fast because he fears what will happen if too many people are around for his departure.

Dorian's room is located between five others; two on one side and three on the other, and even at this hour Cullen feels as though he's being observed when he knock on the door. There's no answer the first time, so he tries again and waits for a few seconds, leaning in to hear if he's gotten the attention of the man inside, but it's clear he's not being loud enough. Louder, though, is not a risk he wants to take.

"Dorian," he says at the highest volume he's willing to go. " _Dorian._ "

No answer. With a frustrated sigh, Cullen leans his forehead against the wood and attempts to wake Dorian by wishing for it hard enough. That doesn't work, of course, so he's left standing there feeling a bit foolish and out of place. The door rattles, just a little, when he puts more of his weight against it, something that only happens when the latch on the other side isn't secure. Or unlocked.

Cullen enters the room and then as a precaution he locks the door behind him. "Dorian," he says, making his way across the single room to the bed where Dorian is sleeping. "Will you wake up, I need—"

The room is dark, the only window is at the front, and not a single candle is lit, but there is no mistaking the fact that Dorian isn't wearing a single scrap of clothing. He's stretched out on his stomach, the blankets having been kicked to the floor, and Cullen can see every inch of him. The dense, coiled muscles of his back, and down further, following his spine to his firm, rounded butt. Cullen takes another step closer and overturns a pile of books and what sounds like a candlestick as it hits the ground and rolls under the bed. When he looks up it's to see that he's solved the problem of waking Dorian.

The expression on Dorian's face is ill-defined in the dark, but it morphs into shock and then confusion which Cullen is better equipped to deal with. "I can explain this."

Dorian is on his side, propping himself up with an elbow, watching him. "Honestly, this is not how I imagined this night would end," he says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing, seemingly unconcerned with his own nudity. "Is. your explanation that you've missed me in the hour or so that we've been apart?" As easy as a flick of his wrist has half the candles in the room glowing red at the wick and then blooming into a small flame.

Without the darkness as a cover, either for Dorian's body, or his own answering blush, Cullen has to find any other spot to focus on when he speaks. "I, ah—" he clears his throat, staring intently an empty silver bowl upturned on a short table, and tries again, "I think it would be best for me to leave Skyhold for a few days. Sera picked the lock into my quarters and I know what the rest of our people are capable of. I'd like it if you came with me."

"I see." There's the sound of rustling fabric as Dorian gets dressed, followed by a soft thud against what is probably the bureau, and then a quiet curse before he continues. "Wouldn't it be better to stay here?"

"Why is that? I fear an escalation if I remain."

"But..."

When Dorian doesn't finish speaking, Cullen finally allows himself to look back. "But?"

Dorian's face is pinched, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips pressed tight in a frown. "No, you're right. I don't know why I thought..." He nods, slowly like he's trying to work out a puzzle, but then he nods again and whatever was troubling him is gone. "We should go to Redcliffe. There may still be some things left over from the Venatori and the rebel mages. Some of those things could even turn out to be useful. Alexius must have left something of value behind."

"Redcliffe, then," says Cullen. "It's less than a day's ride from here."

"They think they love you, but the thoughts are not theirs. The love is not theirs, either."

Cullen barely manages not to jump, but Dorian has a hand pressed to his heart and his eyes are wide, startled, when Cole appears, sitting on top of the bed.

"Don't do that," Dorian hisses.

"How did you get in here?" Cullen asks. "The door is locked."

"No," says Cole. "The door is not locked, it is open. It doesn't want to be locked." And sure enough, the door is slightly open, showing the first rays of sunlight. Cole must have picked the lock.

"Beautiful, bright, a sword on the armor but the flame was no mercy. He is inside everyone's head, but he is not in my head he is too big and cannot fit. I came here to understand."

Cullen has trouble parsing the words to make any send of them. "Do you mean me? I'm in everyone's head?"

"Not mine, you don't fit."

"Well that's," Dorian pauses to think about it and eventually ends with, "something. I think."

"Why isn't Dorian affected?" Cullen asks. The question has been at the back of his mind, one that he hasn't let himself dwell on, but he has to know.

Cole tilts his head, regarding them both. "How would he know?"

"I'd know," says Dorian. "I'm perfectly able to keep my hands off of our dear Cullen, as he is aware. That's more than can be said about anyone else at the moment."

"Yes," says Cole and offers no other insight.

"Now that that's settled, we were planning a short trip to Redcliffe," says Dorian.

"They will not want you to leave."

*

The sun is beginning to rise in earnest when he and Dorian head out for the stables, Cole having gone away with only a few more cryptic words which Cullen thinks is probably for the best.

They make a quick stop back at Cullen's office for him to grab his sword, securing the leather scabbard with the straps around his hip and thigh, and sliding his shield onto his arm. His armor, however, will have to remain behind. It's the armor of a Commander and far too conspicuous for the village they are heading to. Cullen gives it a final look and sighs, feeling somewhat uneasy without it, and climbs back down the ladder to where Dorian is waiting. "Let's go," he says.

"If anyone tries to stop us?"

"We don't let them."

Dorian makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, almost too quiet to be heard, and says, "I wonder how easily they will forgive you and not me when this is all over."

Cullen has no answer for that.

The stables are empty, save for the horses, and it's little effort to have the them saddled and ready for the journey to Redcliffe, though trying to remain unnoticed proves more difficult. It isn't until they're leading the horses out of the stables that Cullen sees Blackwall standing in the barn's entryway, arms crossed over his chest, staring.

"Going somewhere?" Blackwall asks, far more casual than the sword in his hand would imply.

"None of your concern, Blackwall," says Cullen.

The two guards at Skyhold's entrance are standing at attention, and three more are coming down off the battlements to join them.

"Get on the horse," Cullen whispers to Dorian as they get closer to the gates.

Dorian complies, but he says once again, "it might be better if we stay."

Cullen ignores him, he can't stay here any longer. "At ease," he says to the guards. "Let us pass."

"I'm sorry, Ser, but you need to stay here."

"She's right, Ser," says the other, grabbing the reins of Cullen's horse.

Cullen has his sword out and pointed at the man's throat before he even thinks about it. "Let go." He hears the sound of metal dragging against stone, just out of his field of view, and more guards have arrived. Nine in total, not counting Blackwall.

Dorian has his staff held out in front of him, tracking the people still hiding in the shadows. "You do have a plan, yes?"

"You need to stay here," says Blackwall, circling around to the front of them. "No one wants to hurt you, so it would be best if you put down your weapons and come back inside."

Everything happens at once. Blackwall attempts to stab the horse through the heart, Cullen slams his shield into the guard still holding onto the reins, and Dorian fires a bolt of magic into Blackwall's chest with enough force to send him staggering backwards with sparks of electricity flying off of his armor. A soldier gets between Cullen and the guard, but he's without any weapons and all he can do is take hold of Cullen's shield, trying to drag him away from the horse.

Cullen slips his arm from the shield's straps, using the soldier's momentum against him. It's the opportunity he needs to mount his horse and start to ride off, Dorian right behind.

"Will Blackwall be alright?"

"I think so," says Dorian. "Just a few minor burns if he's lucky."

"Can you keep the rest from following us?"

Dorian sighs again, the same unhappy look taking over his face. "I think so," he says.

They stop at the end of the bridge and Dorian turns in his saddle to stare back at the keep. He raises his staff and does something complex that Cullen has little grasp of beyond being spellwork, but it sends the guards that he can see falling to their knees, clutching at their head and screaming. It's an ugly sight, and one Cullen knows too well from experience, but it gets the job done.

"One more thing," Dorian says, and in the next instant the other end of the bridge is lit with flames that lick at every inch of the gate, but spread no further.

"Let's go," Cullen says.

There's a narrow path that has been carved out of the mountain and leads all the way down to the valley below. They follow it to the end as the sun rises above them and eventually turn south along the edge of lake Calenhad to Redcliffe village.

Their trip is somber. Cullen is barely staying awake on his horse and when he does think to talk with him Dorian appears lost in thought. Even when they have to stop to let the horses rest, and maybe more importantly to allow themselves to rest and eat what little food they brought with them, the conversation is sparse.

When at last they reach Redcliffe it's night again and the moon is full and bright, high above them. It's taken nearly a full day to make the journey and Cullen can feel every minute of it in his bones and the weight of his eyelids. The adrenaline from that morning has long since worn off and he’s left exhausted. 

"There's an inn above the tavern," Dorian says, heading in that direction. "We can stay there."

"Is that where you were staying when you first met the Inquisitor?"

"No," Dorian's laugh is bitter, "at that time I was camping out in the woods, if you can believe it. I couldn't be seen anywhere near here. No, I learned of the inn later when I had to come back to meet with my father."

Cullen knows the story of Dorian and his father only through idle gossip and rumors, but he knows even more when not to pry. Dorian's secrets are his own.

"There's a stable near the back," Dorian adds, dismounting from the horse when they reach the front of the tavern. "I'll get us a room."

Cullen leans over to grab the reins of the other horse and carefully walks them to the small stables behind the tavern. There are maybe half a dozen other horses in there already, but he's able to find an empty stall to secure their own. A snoring young man on a pile of hay, once woken up, agrees to tend to them for a few silvers.

The first things Cullen hears after entering the tavern is, somehow not surprisingly, arguing. Dorian and the balding, middle aged man behind the bar are exchanging increasingly heated words, nearing outright shouting. The few people left inside, at different stages of inebriation, are all watching it happen and one man, slumped over a table, keeps raising his jug either in agreement or anger whenever one of them speaks.

"I have coin, just take it and give me a room!"

"Like I said, _mage_ , your moneys not wanted here."

Cullen walks over to them, placing a hand on Dorian's shoulder, hoping to calm him down before anything ends up on fire. "Is there a problem?"

"Yeah," says the barkeep, "this mage here," he jams a finger against Dorian's chest, "thinks we haven't had enough trouble with people like him. Thinks I can't tell he's Tevinter as well. Blood mages, all of 'em."

"I am _not_ —"

"Like I'm gonna believe you!"

"Please," Cullen interjects, picking up the coinpurse, "my friend is no blood mage, I assure you."

"Yeah, right, why should I—" the man stops speaking as he turns to look at Cullen, and runs a hand through his thinning hair. "You're no mage."

"I'm not."

"Well, I suppose," he clears his throat, looks at Dorian again, then back to Cullen, and tries to smooth out the wrinkles on his shirt. "Yeah, okay, we only got one room left, but you can have it." He takes their money and hands over a large brass key. "Just no mage shit, okay?"

"Thank you," Cullen says and steers Dorian up the stairs to their room before the man at the bar can change his mind.

The room is small, but clean with a table by the windows, two chairs, and a bed that will probably fit both of them if they choose to share it. Cullen sets his sword on the table and takes a seat on the edge of the bed so he can unlace his boots without risking his balance.

"I'm sorry," he says. "About that man, he's just afraid of magic. It's not personal."

"No, I'm only a mage, how could it be _personal?_ ” Dorian says between clenched teeth. “No matter, I'm used to it."

Cullen kicks off his boots then goes over to Dorian who is still standing in front of the closed door. "During the blight Redcliffe was attacked by things brought here by a mage. And now after the rebel mages and the Venatori the people here have a lot of reasons not to trust magic."

"I said I'm used to it, what more do you want?"

"I want you to understand their point of view."

"Oh I understand their _point of view_ ," Dorian spits, "but it's not me who needs to learn a little _understanding_. How do you think it feels being hated for how you were born? Do you even think about it? You lock your mages away and teach everyone else to fear them, but I'm the one who has to consider _your_ feelings when I'm hated on sight."

"That's not- I didn't mean it like that," Cullen says.

Dorian steps back and spins around, starting to remove his own armor. "You never do."

"I don't hate you, I never have, and I'm not afraid of your magic," Cullen says, watching as parts of Dorian's armor fall to the ground piece by lovingly crafted piece, leaving him in only his breeches. "I've had years of Chantry training telling me that magic is evil and that the only way to be safe from magic is to rid good people of it entirely, but I'm trying to unlearn that. I'm not afraid of you. I've seen you use magic and it's—" _beautiful_ , "I'm not afraid."

“And yet you make excuses for the behaviour of others,” Dorian mutters. “Perhaps there is more for you to unlearn.”

“I am _trying_ ,” Cullen says. “I am. Even is sometimes it can be difficult for me to see past the magic for the mage.”

When Dorian doesn't say anything more, still turned away, Cullen sits back down on the bed. "The bed is a bit small—"

"Don't worry," Dorian says, finally acknowledging him again. "I'll sleep on the floor so you don't have to worry about me doing anything untoward or magical to you in your sleep."

"Will you please stop assuming the worst of me? I was going to say that I think we'll both fit."

"I see." Dorian tilts his head to the side, lips pressed together. "I never know what to make of you."

Cullen sighs. "I can tell." If he's honest, he's not sure what to make of himself either.

He waits until Dorian has gotten into the other side of the bed before he crawls in after. It's been a long day and he's running only on the very last dregs of his energy so he lacks the wit and charm he usually saves for Dorian. "You're important to me. I'm trying to be someone better than I was and I'm sorry that I still get it wrong," he says not expecting an answer and not being surprised when he doesn't get one. When falls asleep it's to the sound of Dorian breathing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay I finished a thing.

In the morning Cullen is alone. He shoves his feet into his boots and blearily makes his way down to the tavern that smells strongly of roasting meats mixed in with the usual scent of alcohol. He stretches one arm across his chest, then the other, tilts his head to the side with a satisfying crack in his neck, and scratches at the stubble on his chin wondering how much longer he can go without a shave.

There are only a handful of people in the tavern, likely most of them are staying at the inn, and all but one person is eating breakfast. In a corner near the back is a woman, the only one not eating, with a pint of something dark, angrily penning a letter. At the table beside hers is Dorian and, somehow not surprisingly, Cole. 

From a distance, Dorian appears just as put together as always, but the closer Cullen gets the easier it is to see the telltale signs of not enough sleep in the dark smudges under his eyes and slight pallor of his skin.

"When did you wake up?" Cullen asks, pulling a chair out from under an empty table and swinging it around so he can join them.

Dorian smiles at him, pushing his mostly uneaten plate over to Cullen. "A few hours ago. I couldn't sleep," he says. "It's just as well because if I hadn't been down here then Cole would have been all alone with that friendly man behind the bar."

"He wanted to be a painter," says Cole.

"Did you hear that? The so very kind mage hater wanted to be a _painter_."

Cullen chews his bite of ham slowly, deciding that in this moment it would be better for him if he were unable to speak.

As tired as he must be, Dorian is still able to catch on to what Cullen is doing because his eyes narrow and he turns his attention to Cole, saying, "Why don't you tell Cullen all about the food he's eating."

Cole picks up a piece of ham from Cullen's plate and studies it as though it's absolutely fascinating. "It didn't want to be food," he says.

Cullen swallows, frowning at Dorian. "What have I done to deserve your anger today? I'm sorry that man hates mages and I'm sorry don't know how to change that. Whatever it is I've done to you, I'm sorry for it."

Dorian sags in his chair and runs a hand over his face, then makes a frustrated noise and presses his palms against his closed eyes. "No, you shouldn't be," he says, sitting up and looking at Cullen. "I've been— It's this situation. I don't know how to fix it for you and I feel useless. If anyone should be angry today, it's you."

"I'm not," Cullen says, placing his hand on top of Dorian's and squeezing gently. "I'm glad I have you with me."

"It's better than the dream," says Cole, reminding him that they aren't alone.

"How did you get here?" he asks.

"I walked."

Cullen tries to work that out in his head. The distance between Redcliffe and Skyhold, the amount of time it took them to get here on horseback, and the very idea of Cole walking the entire way and arriving only a few hours earlier. It doesn't seem possible. "Of course."

"Tell him what you told me about Skyhold after we left," Dorian says.

"They became empty. All the space in their heads that was filled with you poured out and there was nothing left. Now they can only wait."

Cullen's blood runs cold through his veins and he shivers. "What does that mean?"

"I think it means that it's you." Dorian turns his hand over to squeeze Cullen's in return. "I have a theory, but," he breathes deep, letting it out slow, "I think it's not what the demon did to everyone else, it's what it did to you."

There's a ringing in his ears and copper on his tongue, but faint like a memory. The demons in the circle; the desire demons using all of his secrets, all the little things locked away in his heart, to break him. To hollow him out and destroy his will so that whatever was left of him would be theirs. The blood in his mouth from biting his tongue so he wouldn't scream. 

There are fingers on his face and he jerks back, away, he escapes, but he's still in the tavern and he's gained the attention of everyone in the room.

"It's me, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," Dorian says, and he's closer than he was before.

"I—" Cullen has to clear his throat, has to remember how to speak. "I'm fine."

"They fell. One by one by one until he was the only one left."

"We will fix this," Dorian says and he sounds so small and far away and his eyes are wide and scared. "I'll find anything that Alexius may have left behind. He had an extensive library, he must have brought some of it with him and none of it has turned up with the Inquisition, as far as I know. I'll find something, I promise." He stands and looks around for a moment, as if there's more he wants to say, but eventually he leaves without another word.

"You think he's beautiful," Cole says, forcing Cullen to realise that he's been staring at Dorian's retreating figure.

"He is," Cullen says, feeling his skin grow warm with embarrassment. "Anyone can see that."

"He would be happy if you told him."

"Most people would be happy to hear that they are beautiful."

Cole studies him in the same way he had studied the slice of ham earlier. "But he is not most people, he is Dorian, and he would be happiest to hear it from you."

"I, ah," Cullen draws a blank on what to say, but there's a nervous hope in his belly that's making him feel lighter. "That's good to know. Thank you, Cole."

"You're smiling, that's better," says Cole. "I want to help, too.

"Yes, but before that could you check on the horses? They're in the stables behind the tavern."

"I like horses," says Cole. "But they like apples. I will bring them apples."

In the next instant Cullen is alone at the table with only a plate of rapidly cooling breakfast. He takes another bite, ignoring what Cole had said about the meat, and wonders how long he'll be distracted by the horses and how he'll eventually have to explain to Arl Teagan why a member of the Inquisition broke into his home for matters relating to demons. Though there's a very good chance that Cole won't be caught, it remains in the best interest of everyone if Cullen doesn't openly condone such actions. As useful as they are.

Without any distractions he's left only with the memories of his dreams, the image of waking up with Dorian in his bed already fading like the rest. He pushes the plate away, no longer hungry, and sees for the first time that he still holds the attention of everyone in the room. 

It's as familiar as Skyhold.

*

Redcliffe Village has never been very pretty with its dirt and dried grass and the smell of fish brought in from the lake, but it is Ferelden through and through. Cullen wanders around, no real goal in mind, but it doesn't take long to see that the effects of the desire demon aren't limited to within Skyhold's surrounding walls. There are a group of young women standing together outside of one of the shops who whisper behind their hands and giggle as he walks by. Cullen has no misconceptions regarding his looks, he knows he's handsome enough by most standards, but he's seen before that sharp, measured way the women watch him.

Not far away is a stall with a man selling what he claims are various treasures and knick-knacks picked up in his travels, though Cullen can't help but to wonder how much of it was looted from the corpses found littering the Hinterlands. There's a sword with an Orlesian hilt and an engraving along the blade that reads _My beloved Adelaide, may the Maker forever guide you_. Or, at least, that's what he thinks it says. Cullen has never been able to master the Orlesian language.

"Got that one from the Inquisitor herself," says the shop owner. "You wouldn't believe all the things she was carrying. Sold a lot of them to me at a fair price, I'll tell you. Only took me two days to turn a profit."

Cullen resists the urge to sigh, setting down the sword.

*

On their second day in Redcliffe, Dorian is once again gone by the time Cullen wakes. The bitter pang of disappointment is easily buried under years of learning not to get too close to anyone, though it's with some resistance. In a distant, hidden part of his memory, locked away in a stone tower, a younger version of him learned what happens when he lets himself want someone, especially a mage.

He leaves the inn, walking along the dirt road, seeking the Chantry. Even there, needing a moment of solace, praying for the maker's guidance, there is no reprieve from the effects of the desire demon. The sisters stand in the shadows and their eyes follow him as he walks to the statue of Andraste and then down on bended knee, reciting the Chant of Light.

"What troubles you, child," asks one of the sisters and Cullen startles, having not seen her approach.

"It is nothing, sister," he says, standing.

She reaches out, running her fingers through his hair, then down against his skull where her nails scrape under his ear and along his neck. "You are too lovely to waste away in the dark, Commander. Why don't you come with me," she says, and her nails have begun to dig into throat.

"No," Cullen shoves her back and wipes at his throat. His hand comes away wet with his own blood.

They watch him as he leaves, as he pushes the heavy doors to the Chantry open and stumbles out into the afternoon sun, blinking as his eyes adjust from the darkness inside. From all directions are people staring at him, watching his every move, casting him as prey. He can feel it as heavy as a physical touch, everywhere, and inescapable. He is without armor or weapons, no friends at his back, and from the corners of his eyes, lingering just out of focus, is the desire demon, waiting for him.

There's a brush against his arm, another at his on his neck, a soft touch at his heart, and when he looks there is no one. 

He staggers back into the tavern, pulse thrumming under his skin, and the room is silent. More people seated at the tables, drinking, playing cards, but not speaking. All of them are turned to him, watching.

He makes his way up the stairs on shaking legs, and into the room where he sets the lock and collapses onto the edge of the bed, curled forward, head in hands. His breathing is too rapid, but none of it seems to fill his lungs, and stars dance around his vision. _What if this isn't real?_ The thought drifts through him and _Paranoia_ follows behind and _Lyrium_ is left in their wake. He can't even trust himself anymore.

Something hits the floor, hard, and he hears his name from somewhere nearby. _Cullen, Cullen..._

"Cullen," Dorian says, crouched in front of him, lit only by the moon. "Are you hurt? What happened?"

"I'm," Cullen hesitates to answer, unsure how to explain. The room is dark and it's the first time he's even noticed; it must have been hours since he'd returned to the inn. "How do I know this is real?"

"What? I can't--" Dorian lights the candles in the room with only a gentle wave of his hand, casting a warm glow around them both.

"Wherever I go they're all the same. How do I know any of it is real? That's it's not in my head? Just another effect of the lyrium?"

"What does lyrium have to do with-- oh." Dorian stands, pacing a bit like he’s not sure what to do with himself. "Look," he says, finally, picking up one of the books he'd dropped when he came in. "It's an account of a magister who bound a demon to himself and used it as a focal point for siphoning power into himself. I think what's happening is similar to that."

"I didn't bind a demon to me and I don't want power."

"Right, but I think the demon has bound itself to you, in a way. Making people desire you and pouring all that energy into itself."

Cullen takes a deep steadying breath and asks, "What happened to him?"

"Who?"

"The magister."

"He died," Dorian says, the rushes to add, "but that won't happen to you. For starters, you have me. And Cole is around here somewhere, too." He crouches back down in front of Cullen, meeting his eyes. "I need you to know that this isn't your imagination. I promise you it isn't any lasting influence of the lyrium, either. All of this is because of a desire demon and I will do everything in my power to stop it."

Cullen makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob because _Dorian_. All this time and Cullen doesn't know how he's missed it.

"Are you--" Dorian's gaze falls to his neck. "Who did that?"

Cullen runs his fingers over the little crescent moon marks at his throat, already scabbing over. "A chantry sister."

Dorian practically spits a few exceptionally colorful swears and Cullen can't help it when he actually does laughs.

It feels good to laugh as if he hasn't in a very long time, and when he spots Dorian through his own euphoria, his face is so concerned. Worry and fear etched in all of his features. He's done so much for Cullen and he cares deeply, more than Cullen has known what to do with, and it's sobering. Calming. "You're doing all of this for me; why?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Dorian stands again, backing off, a mask of indifference overtaking concern. "You're important to the Inquisition, and the Inquisitor. I also imagine it would be somewhat difficult for us to close the breach without the aid of everyone else. Helping you is a necessity."

Cullen stands as well, but doesn't move away from the bed. "That's it, then. It's your duty to the Inquisition?" He can't let this go, not yet.

"Of course. What other reason could there possibly be?"

"Dorian," Cullen says, taking the three short steps over to him. "Please, look at me." Dorian's head snaps up, his eyes are wide, and he breathes in sharp, fast. "Why isn't the demon affecting you?"

"I'm magic," Dorian says, his voice a whisper between them. "I know how to stay away from you, no demon can change--" Cullen kisses him, clutching at the front of his robes and bringing them closer together.

"How can I be sure this is really you?" Dorian asks, eyes closed, leaning his forehead against Cullen's. "How do I know?"

"You can't," says Cullen, "but I am."

That must be enough for Dorian because he kisses Cullen again, his hand coming up to tilt his head back a little and lingering against his jaw in a caress. It's disorienting, for a moment, a thought he can't hold onto, but he can feel Dorian's tongue against his mouth as he parts his lips in turn, and he presses against Dorian until there's little space between them. Kissing isn't new, but it's unfamiliar, and he's out of practice. Only when Dorian makes a pleased sound, pulling away to press a soft kiss against the cuts on his neck, moustache tickling his skin, does Cullen relax fully.

He grins, allowing Dorian to lead him back over to the bed where he pulls Cullen down on top of him. It's different, unexpected, but good, when Dorian pushes his knee up between his legs, and slides a hand down the back of Cullen's trousers to knead the flesh and muscle there hard enough to bruise, but not hurt.

Cullen's mouth drops open in a gasp when Dorian rocks his hips up against his own, putting light pressure on his cock, the fabric of his trousers giving just enough friction. He presses his mouth against Dorian's neck, kissing it, and Dorian laughs until Cullen uses his leverage to roll his hips down hard, bearing down with his thigh just enough to have Dorian arching up to meet him. He kisses the moan from Dorian's lips.

"We have to go," says Cole, appearing at the now opened window and Cullen freezes completely unable to move even a muscle.

Dorian is equally as frozen, but he recovers faster, tipping his head back to look at Cole upside down. "You have to stop doing that."

"But it's important," says Cole. "They weren't empty before, but they forgot and all that's left is him. They're coming here to find him. They want him so much."

"Our people? From Skyhold?" Cullen asks, regaining his voice along with his nerves.

"No, the one who lives here."

Cullen starts to get up, but Dorian's hold keeps him in place. "Cole, can you get the horses?" Dorian asks. "Three, this time, if you will." He waits for Cole to vanish from the window before releasing Cullen.

"I guess we should--" Cullen is cut off when Dorian pulls him back in for one more kiss, a hard press of lips like a promise.

"We really should go," Dorian says, sitting up as Cullen climbs off of him.

If Cole showing up hadn't alone been enough to temper Cullen's arousal, then the news he brought with him was. Even the final kiss from Dorian couldn't overcome the knowledge that more people were being controlled by the desire demon, though the brief contact had settled the creeping terror up his spine before it could take root. With his sword strapped to his hip and his shield on his arm, he touches Dorian's hand, needing to feel him again before they walk out of the room.

There are only a few people peering out of other rooms and in the tavern fewer still, but out in the streets there are dozens of people, all standing still. "Commander," they whisper, " _Cullen_." And when someone grabs him, he doesn't see who, he only feels their hot breath against his cheek and their nails digging into his skin, and hears a voice like a storm saying "I need you, I want you, you're mine."

It's Dorian who fists a hand in the back of his shirt a drags him away, over to the horses and Cole, shouting, "Get on, we have to get out of here." And Cullen forces everything else to the back of his mind and does what he has to.

*

"Wait!" Dorian shouts, tugging on the reins and bringing his horse to a stop.

Cole must have known what Dorian was going to do because he's already stopped, waiting, when Cullen manages to slow his own horse and turn it around to jog back toward them. "What is it?"

Dorian dismounts and begins securing his horse an old fence post, most of which has broken and fallen away. "We have to go back to Skyhold," he says. "If we go anywhere else what happened in Redcliffe is only going to happen there, too.

Cullen and Cole dismount as well, though Cole continues to hold the reigns of his horse and stroke its hair while Cullen secures his own next to Dorian's, leaving his weapons propped up beside it.

"What if we go back and there's nothing we can do? We may not be able to get out again."

"We need to be in Skyhold." Dorian scrubs at his face then tilts his head up at the night sky, eyes closed. "There's nothing we can do here or anywhere else," he says after a long moment, meeting Cullen's eyes in the dark. "If there's something we can do, it will be there."

"But what if we can't?" Cullen asks. All they have right now are theories and walking into Skyhold unprepared will be dangerous for all of them.

"They're all the same inside. But it's not them, it's Cullen. But it's not him either."

"That's helpful," says Dorian, then, "Actually..." He taps his staff against the ground and the top bursts into a blue flame, lighting the area around him, then holds it out to Cullen. "Hold this for me, will you."

Cullen takes the staff from Dorian, resisting the urge to keep it at arm's length, knowing that a mage's staff is only as powerful as the mage who wields, but old habits are not so easily broken. He watches as the other man rummages through his satchel, eventually picking up the book he'd found earlier. With the fire he can see clearly the words written on the pages, all in Tevene, as Dorian flips through them, searching for the right one. Cole joins them in the light, his horse in tow.

"Here," Dorian says, turning the book around to show him, though Cullen certainly can't read it which he tries to express with a shrug.

"I don't know these words," says Cole.

Dorian sighs and says, "The Magister died when the demon unbound itself from him. All that energy and nowhere for it to go so it burned him from the inside. If I'm right and the desire demon is using you in the same way, then we just have to find it and sever the connection, and that should make everything return to normal."

Cullen looks back to the pages of the book, still hoping to make sense of them. "Could we sever that connection now?"

"No," says Dorian. "If you were a powerful mage, maybe."

"But you do know how to do it, right?"

"No," Dorian says again, softer this time. "Not without killing you. I've never done this before. I've never even seen this before. And none of it matters if we don't go back to Skyhold and bring the demon out of hiding."

"You really think it's still there?"

"I--" Dorian pauses, frowning. "Yes. That- That would make sense. We have to go back there."

Cole takes the book from Dorian and turns a few pages, settling on the one with an elaborate drawing of a man fornicating with a demon on top of an altar in front of a woman dressed entirely in wolf pelts. "I don't understand weddings," he says and adds, "there was a rift over Skyhold, then it closed, but demons can't close rifts."

"The rift could still be there?" Dorian asks.

Cullen watches a Cole flips through more pages, though none of the art is as detailed as the previous. "How is that possible? Everyone saw it close."

"We couldn't see anything and when we could it was gone," says Dorian. "Desire demons can play with your mind, alter your perception. It's possible the rift is still there but the demon is preventing us from seeing it."

Cullen clenches his hands into fists, knuckles going white around the wooden staff he's still holding. "Then the demon is back in Skyhold. We need a way to make that rift visible again."

"With everyone in Skyhold and in Redcliffe under its thrall it will have gained an immense amount of power by now." Dorian places his hand on top of Cullen's over the staff, and rubs circles against his wrist with his thumb. "Is there anything you learned as a templar that could help?"

"Nothing that I can do any longer," Cullen says. "Not without--"

Dorian interrupts him, saying, "That's not an option."

"There may be no other choice."

"You're already a person," says Cole. "You should not be bound."

"He's right," says Dorian. "I think. There has to be another option we can try."

"You said the only way you know of to sever the connection was to kill me!" Cullen is tired and frustrated and he doesn't want to die. Not now, not when he has, hopes he has, Dorian. Lyrium would be a small price to pay for the chance at something good. "If the choices are my death or take lyrium again, I will not die for this."

"We don't even know if anything you could do would work!" Dorian jabs a finger into his chest. "Do you think it will be easy to stop taking it again after? Do you even think you'll want to? I will not watch you disappear into the Lyrium! How long before it takes your mind? Before you can't tell reality from a dream?"

"What else can we do?" Cullen's words scratch at his throat and leave his mouth quieter than he'd meant them to.

Dorian rests his head against Cullen's shoulder. "I'll figure this out. Please. Let me do this."

They stand there like that, not speaking. Cullen knows that Dorian is right, but they're in over their heads and he can't see a way out. All they have are theories and maybes and an old book. He takes a deep breath and says, "I trust you," because it's Dorian who has gotten him this far and Dorian he will see it through with him until the end.

"Thank you," Dorian says, and that's when Cole comes riding back in, through a patch of overgrown weeds and grass, and Cullen isn't even sure when he left.

"Red Templars," says Cole.

That gets them moving. Cullen tosses Dorian's staff back to him, picks up his own weapons, and unties his horse from the fence post. "We can talk on the way back," he says, pulling himself up and into the saddle. 

They're gone when the Red Templars get there.

*

Arriving back in Skyhold after little more than a day in Redcliffe is bittersweet. This is where Cullen has made his home, but it's also where someone broke in and turned into a dark parody of safety. Even in the early light of dawn, there's a sense of foreboding. The shadows appear longer, more sinister, and darker than Cullen can remember them ever being before. Even the very mountain seems corrupted.

He can almost convince himself that it's all his imagination until, at his left, Dorian shivers then jumps a little when Cole gets down from his horse and comes up behind them.

They leave the horses at the gate, choosing to enter on foot. They may not be able to get back to the stables if they have to escape again. 

Only a few steps past the entrance and it's impossible to miss the consequences of their departure. _His_ departure. Everywhere the members of the Inquisition are frozen, facing out at the front gate of Skyhold, as if they're all just waiting for his return.

"Dolls, but not dolls. They're alive," says Cole. "It's all mixed up in their heads. The demon replaced all of them with its lies."

"We will make this right," says Cullen.

Cole stands in front of a young mage Cullen recognizes from the library. Slowly, as if being thawed, her eyes begin to track Cole, losing that vacant quality she'd had only moments before. Around them Cullen can see signs of movement, small but there. He grabs Dorian by the elbow, pulling him further into the keep.

"This has to be now."

"What does?" Dorian asks, extracting his arm from Cullen's grip. "We're back in Skyhold, everything is fine."

"What are you talking about?"

"We're fine now. All we needed was to come back here; it's okay."

"Look around you, Dorian! None of this is _fine_."

Dorian frowns. "No, I think," he says, rubbing at his eyes. "I don't-- You had to come back here."

"He's like them, all mixed up inside."

Cullen takes a step back, afraid of what is happening. Afraid of what it means. "Dorian," he says like a prayer or perhaps more like a plea.

"No." Dorian sways on his feet. "I need a minute."

More and more the people of Skyhold are beginning to wake up. Surrounding them from all sides, sharp jerking movements like marionettes under a puppeteer. Once they get closer Cullen will be forced to make a decision regarding what he is willing to do. He doesn't want to leave Dorian here, but if they stay there's no knowing what the demon's effects will lead to. Cullen doesn't want to hurt anyone.

Dorian makes the decision for him. With a cry of pain, his hand pressed between his eyes, he collapses to his knees, staff pointed out at Cullen. "I'll give you as much time as I can," he says, teeth clenched, and the air fills with magic.

It's a barrier, but much larger, covering not only Cullen but also Cole beside him. It shimmers in the early light, and ripples like waves in the sea. There's a quality to it, almost a signature, that Cullen recognises easily as being Dorian's. Outside there's a shriek, high and rabid, too far away to know where it came from. They're getting closer in halting, stuttering steps.

"They don't want to be empty," says Cole and slips the blade of his dagger under Cullen's ribs.

It hurts. Of course it hurts. Cole takes the dagger back, blade sliding out covered in blood. The front of Cullen's tunic is stained red, spreading out from a single point; reminding him of a rose in bloom. He flattens his hand against the darkest spot, pressing down, and it's warm against his skin. When he breathes it stings, though the feeling is distant, muted, growing numb. The pounding of his heart slows and with every beat the pain grows further away and the world gets a little darker. The grip he has on his sword loosens, but he does not let it fall.

A tug inside his chest, against his heart, propels him forward one sluggish step at a time into the welcoming arms of the desire demon. 

"Precious thing," it says bringing him to its chest, hand on the back of his neck, claws trailing down his spine. "I will not let that spirit take you from me."

Heat in his veins, warming him from the inside out. Cullen's eyes flutter shut. Contentment curls around his bones, filling him with a sense of peace he's always longed for. There is something he must do, something he knows he must remember, but he is safe now and nothing else should matter. His heart slows more and he can no longer feel the blood spilling down his side.

"Give yourself to me," it whispers and its voice flows into every empty, hollow space inside of him and Cullen thinks he must be whole.

There's blood in his mouth and Cullen cannot find the breath to speak. He wants to give everything he has to this creature that would keep him whole and safe, away from all of this suffering. Another tug against his heart and he can feel it now for what it is: a tether. A rope coiled around him and anchored in his chest, connecting them. If he concentrates, holds tight to that rope, he can feel the flow of energy through him and out along the tether toward the creature. Giving it power.

Cullen wants so much to give it more. He angles his head up, seeking benediction, a promise. What he receives is a kiss, a gentle press against his lips.

"I will have all of you," it says.

Behind him there's a scream, a sound like his name, but when he turns there is no one. Only the vast, empty fields that surround them. Summer flowers are in bloom, stretching up toward the sun that warms his skin.

"Precious thing," it says, guiding his face back to its own. "You only have to give yourself to me."

Cullen wants, more than anything, to give this creature all of himself, but his body is growing numb from the poison in his blood and he cannot speak to tell it so. He leans in for another kiss, harder this time. Trying to express all the things he can't say. His lips part at its urging and Cullen can taste magic on its tongue. He doesn't expect to be pushed away.

"What have you done?" it asks, his blood staining its lips.

The sun grows brighter, blinding, then flickers and fades with the fields of wildflowers, leaving only Skyhold and the frost covered mountains in their wake. Dorian is standing, channeling his magic to the barrier around Cullen with one hand, and trying to hold back the mass of people gone feral by their desire with the other. Cole is beside him, their backs turned to Cullen and the demon, trusting him to see this through. 

"Beautiful child," the demon says. "What have you done?"

A surge of power through their connection makes Cullen stumble forward, but the demon doesn't catch him this time. He finds his balance before he crashes to the ground, though his legs barely hold him. The demon is drawing in power from everyone around them and taking his life with it.

"I would have given you everything," the demon says, grabbing him by the throat and slowly crushing his windpipe.

The edges of Cullen's vision are growing darker, bleeding toward the center. He wonders idly if the demon will kill him before the knife or the poison. The odds are stacked against them both, but the demon doesn't know that yet. That the poisoned blade was meant for both of them. Not until the tether connecting them slackens, uncoiling from its hold on Cullen, if only for a short moment.

The demon falters. Without its link to Cullen or his willing possession it is weakened and he is able to free himself from its claws on his neck. Whatever strength Cullen has left he uses to lift his sword and, with a shaking breath, he swings.

It doesn't scream when it dies, when its head rolls from its neck, but Cullen hears it all the same. He feels its death as if it were his own. Every part of him is in pain as he is made hollow and empty once more and when he falls to the ground, knees hitting the dirt, and clawing at his head he realises that the screaming is his own. His voice cracks and his throat is raw and only when the pain overwhelms him does he stop.

"Cullen!" Dorian yells, wrestling his arms away from his head, and when Cullen looks he sees that his own nails are covered in blood. "You have to take this," he says, releasing Cullen to hand him a vial. The antidote.

When Cullen doesn't respond, when he _can't_ , Dorian pulls the cork from the vial and tips it into Cullen's mouth. It burns, blistering his tongue and throat, searing him from the inside. He coughs, choking, unable to breathe, sure that he will not survive this. Not sure that he cares. He is in agony, every inch of him on fire, burning alive. When everything starts to become grey, muted, all sounds growing distant, he can't even remember who his prayers should go to that he won't wake up.

*

A darkness surrounds him, creeping in from all sides, closing in. It’s comforting in its omnipresence, for he sees that it’s not only around him, but that it has crawled inside of him already. Latching on and making him another part of the dark. It welcomes him home, though he’s sure he was never here before, and soothes all of his pain.

But it doesn’t last. A cry ripped from his throat forces him back into the light. Someone is speaking, yelling, but the only thing he sees are shapes blurred and intangible, and then Dorian sharpens into focus. There are tears in his eyes, running down his face, and Cullen doesn’t understand why he’s upset. Has someone been hurt? He wants to ask, but he’s so tired, and with a flash of light, green from the rift, the darkness is back. It pulls him under.

The next time Cullen’s eyes open the scenery has changed, the picture is clearer. Two mages stand over him, arms outstretched, chanting. He can’t make out the words, the sound is far away and muffled, but he wants to protest. 

He struggles, wanting to get away. From them, from their magic. His limbs don’t work as they should, too sluggish to be any use, but still he tries. Even as there’s a sharp pain in his side, the feeling of something tearing open. More words he doesn’t understand and the surgeon is there, pressing down against his abdomen, and then Dorian is above him, hands flat on his shoulders, pinning him in place. Cullen calms, trusting Dorian. Wherever they are, he’s safe.

Finally Cullen wakes again. Truly awake this time. He’s in the infirmary, sunlight pouring through the windows so he estimates it’s mid afternoon. The surgeon is across the room, cleaning up, and Cole is in the chair next to the foot of the bed, feet propped up on the seat, resting his chin against his knee.

“Hello,” says Cole, startling the surgeon enough that she turns around and sees Cullen looking at her.

“You’re awake,” she says, pouring water into a glass and handing it to Cullen when he sits up. “Weren’t sure for a while there. Even the mages couldn’t tell if you’d open your eyes again.”

Cullen takes a sip of water, swishing it around in his mouth to get rid of the feeling of cotton that had settled on his tongue. He tries to speak, but only ends up coughing.

“Don’t try to force anything,” the surgeon says. “You’ve been out for over a week,” and either she doesn’t notice his reaction or doesn’t care, because she just continues, saying, “I’ll go to the kitchens and find something you can eat. Magic can only sustain you for so long.”

“It didn’t want to let you go when it died,” Cole says when they’re alone. “It wanted you to go with it. You almost did.”

Cullen drains the rest of his glass of water, not know what to think. “Did it— Did I— What happened?” His voice is rough from being unused for too long.

Cole doesn’t respond right away, instead he wraps his arms around his legs, hugging his knees into his chest. “You fell,” he says after a little longer. “You fell and there was blood and poison and then there was only blood, but it wouldn’t stop. You were cold, no air or breath, and lost in the dark. It’s my fault. I stabbed you and you almost died and it’s my fault.”

It takes some effort, but Cullen manages to move enough so that he can reach out and touch Cole, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault. You did what you were supposed to; it was the demon who almost killed me, not you.”

Cole shakes his head. “It was my knife.”

“You couldn’t have known what would happen. No one could.” Cullen’s energy was starting to leave him, but he had to make Cole understand. “We had to save the people here. Everything we did was because of the demon. They’re the one to blame, not you.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“That’s good. You’re a good person, Cole.”

Whatever he said appears to lift the weight from Cole’s shoulders, and Cullen lets himself fall back against the pillows. He tired and his eyelids feel heavy, but the surgeon returns and forces him to eat at least half a bowl of broth.

“Where’s Dorian?” Cullen thinks to ask when he’s finished eating and about to fall asleep.

“He went with the Inquisitor to Redcliffe,” Cole says. “They have to know that everyone is okay.”

Cullen drifts off before he can think of any more questions.

The rest of the week he’s forced to stay in the infirmary where the surgeon can keep an eye on him and Cullen would argue, but for the first few days he can barely get out of the small bed, so he concedes easily. Cole stays with him, at least while he’s awake, and eventually moves from the old wooden chair onto the bed, sitting near Cullen’s feet. They play Wicked Grace and Diamondback somehow Cole’s abstract concept of how the games are played doesn’t make him bad at either. He wins more often than Cullen does.

Sometimes people stop by for a visit, all of them with apologies for how they behaved, and every time he has to assure them that he knows it wasn’t their fault. That he doesn’t blame them. And he buries the part of him that does.

“You told her you’re not angry, but you are,” Cole says about Leliana when she leaves, shuffling the cards with a surprising knack for it.

“I’m not,” Cullen says, then adds, “It’s complicated.”

“I don’t understand.”

Cullen searches for a better answer, a way to explain. “I know it was the demon. I know it used them as much as it used me. But—“

“You were afraid. It used them and made you fear your friends.”

“Yes.”

Cole places his hand on Cullen’s arm, the same way Cullen had done to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

The days following that are easier. Cullen’s strength is returning and the demon’s influence is ebbing. It gets easier to forgive his friends and mean it, reminding himself that he could and did trust these people with his life.

When he hears that the Inquisitor is returning, he asks Cole to bring him what he needs to shave his beard. He’s still not allowed to leave the infirmary on his own, though he can now walk for short distances without needing to sit down. By his count, he should be back to his full strength in another week or two.

Cullen cleans up to the best of his ability while remaining in the infirmary, playing cards with Cole, and waits for Dorian to return. He needs to know that it was real, that it wasn’t another trick from the demon. His cheeks grow hot at the memory of what they almost did in Redcliffe and he has to clear his mind, pointedly not thinking about it, as long as Cole is in the room.

“I don’t think you can bend that way until you’re better,” Cole says like he’s commenting on the weather. 

Cullen clears his throat and picks up another card, refusing to continue with that conversation.

By nightfall it’s obvious that Dorian won’t show up, and he doesn’t the next day either. After that Cullen is finally allowed to leave the infirmary, though the surgeon recommends he doesn’t do anything strenuous for a couple more days. His first stop is a real bath and a change of clothes, then off to find Dorian. He can’t wait any longer, he has to know that it wasn’t the demon. 

It’s Josephine who informs him that Dorian has already gone, again, to Orlais this time.

Cullen has his answer, just not the one he wants.

*

In the end it takes three weeks for Cullen to recover fully. For his hands to stop shaking, for his legs to hold him up, for his heart to stay calm when he’s only walking across the keep. There’s still a hollow ache inside of him, one that was caused by the demon’s hold taking root, but it lessens every day even though he fears it may never go away entirely, he’s reticent to share that with anyone. Some days he wakes with a voice from his dreams calling out to him from the fade and the hollow feeling is gone and he fears that more than anything else.

Cole continues to spend his time with Cullen and with him comes Varric, of all people. He asks questions about what happened, never pushing too far, because of an idea he has for a new book. Apparently Varric is considering moving into a new fiction genre. Mostly, however, he just tries to help Cole cheat at chess.

“Here’s what you do, Kid: when you put your knight down, switch his pawn and bishop,” Varric says, leaning closer to the board. “If you do it fast you won’t get caught.”

“But I don’t want the bishop,” says Cole. “He’s too angry.”

“You’re not going to _take_ it, you’re just gonna move it around a little.”

Cullen wonders what he would have thought if, six months ago, someone had told him this is where he would end up. “You are aware that I’m sitting right here, yes?”

“Yes,” says Cole. “Were you trying to hide?”

“He means that he knows I’m trying to help you cheat.”

“You shouldn’t cheat, Varric.”

“Yeah,” Varric shrugs, “But it makes winning so much easier.”

It doesn’t. As the conversation rapidly devolves into a debate regarding the express rules of chess, The Game in Orlais, and the true lineage of every nobility in Thedas, it becomes clear that no one is winning anything.

It’s another two weeks until Dorian arrives back at Skyhold, as well as the Inquisitor. They ride through the gates shortly after sunrise, long after Cullen had awoken in a cold sweat, as he is standing outside, needing to escape the confines of his own bedroom. On mornings like this any room is too claustrophobic. 

For a short time he watches them from the ramparts as they put their horses back into the stables, laughing over a topic he can’t hear. The sight of Dorian leaves him cold, angry at himself for so easily accepting Dorian’s word that he wasn’t affected, so willing to believe that— He leaves before anyone can notice him standing there.

Cullen wonders if he’s lost a friend, if that’s another parting gift from the demon, but he can’t bring himself to seek Dorian out. A month to prepare and he doesn’t know what he can say. _I’m sorry for what happened in Redcliffe, I should have known it wasn’t really you_ , perhaps.

The day passes slowly. Life has gone back to normal, or as normal as anything can get these days, and Cullen has a stack of reports to read. 

Eventually he hears from one of his soldiers that there will be a celebration in the tavern later, for the Inquisitor who has slain a high dragon. It’s a terrifying thought, that she and only a few of her companions have taken down a dragon. That Dorian was one of those few. 

For a brief moment he considers going, having fun with everyone else, but even the idea of being in such close quarters with so many other people sends his pulse racing.

By nightfall Cullen has again sequestered himself inside of his office, though he’s left the door cracked open enough to keep the room cool as he works, trying to make sense of the incoherent writing on a map picked up from a red templar camp. If he’s lucky it’ll turn out to be information on their troop movements, but the more likely scenario is that he will spend hours trying to decipher what’s written only to discover it’s nothing more than the ramblings of someone who has lost their mind to red lyrium. The low light of the room doesn’t exactly make things easier.

“I knew I’d find you here. What would people think if they actually saw you having fun?”

Cullen pushes his chair back and stands, the map falling to the ground. “Dorian,” he says.

“Not quite the reaction I was expecting.” Dorian hesitates, glancing around the room. “You weren’t waiting for someone else, were you?”

“No, of course not,” Cullen says. “I just didn’t think—“ he has to clear his throat before he can continue, “that is— I assumed you would be at the tavern. I heard you fought a high dragon.”

“I did. We also won, if the rumors are to be believed,” Dorian smirks. “And I was with everyone at the tavern until I realised you weren’t coming.” He takes a step closer, carefully, like he’s afraid of what Cullen’s reaction will be. “I had an interesting conversation with Cole earlier. He said that you two have become friends and he doesn't like it when his friends are hurting— that I was hurting you."

"He means well, but he should not have done that. I apologise; I will speak with him later."

"Imagine my surprise to hear that I'd done anything to you when I haven't been here in over a month," Dorian says, light and humorous, but even Cullen can see that his heart isn't in it. "I meant to see you when I came back from Redcliffe. I was halfway to the infirmary when— You're all I'd been thinking about for weeks and when the Inquisitor said she was heading to Val Royeaux I thought I'd have a little more time to think. I didn't know we would go from their to the Western Approach."

"There's no need to explain," says Cullen. "And you should know that I am sorry for what happened back at the inn."

"What are you saying?"

"It was a mistake. If I had known that the demon was influencing you, I never would have let that happen. I'm sorry."

"Is that what—" Dorian trails off in a string of Tevinter swears that Cullen can only guess the meaning of. "Is that what you've been thinking? Whatever sway the demon had over me had nothing to do with how I feel about you. If it made me desire you then that desire was no stronger than what it always is. When you wouldn't wake up, when they weren't sure if you would, I was there with you every day, has no one told you?"

Cullen shakes his head, once, only a small movement.

"I bought you that mabari statue!" Dorian says it like it explains everything.

"You said it was junk you found in some ruins."

Dorian takes several steps until he's standing right in front of Cullen. "I lied," he says. "Back home, we purchase little gifts in place of any real expression of affection. I decided that was a terrible idea and you'd more likely prefer something more _Ferelden_. But by then I already had the damn statuette, and I wanted to give you nice things, even if you do come from barbarian dog lovers."

"I—" Cullen searches for the right thing to say, but finds he's lacking in little more than his own desires. "Better barbarian dog lovers, than evil blood mages," he says, leaning in close, lips almost pressed against Dorian's.

"You say the sweetest things." Dorian closes the space between them, index finger and thumb against Cullen's chin, gently tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

He's clinging to Dorian, both hands gripping tight at his sides, and Dorian's tongue in his mouth. Someone is making small, needy sounds, and it takes Cullen a few seconds before he realises it's him. He leans back against his desk, pulling Dorian over him, between his legs.

"How far do you want to take this?" Dorian asks, breaking away and pressing kisses up along his jaw, then down his neck where he starts to work the same spot with teeth and tongue.

"My bed is upstairs," Cullen says. The noise he makes when Dorian stands up causes his face to go hot with embarrassment.

Dorian darts in for another kiss and says, "I'll meet you up there."

It takes Cullen a moment to calm down enough to move, getting off of his desk, and seeing for the first time that it's a mess. Papers everywhere, books overturned onto the floor, and more concerning is the door that's wide open. He quickly moves past the scattered contents of his desk, vowing to clean it in the morning, and closes the door, locking it, and doing the same to the one on the opposite side. It's at the ladder that he has to pause, nervousness and excitement mixing, threatening to burst out of him. 

He takes a deep breath, and climbs.

At the top, in his bedroom, Dorian is standing turned away from him, half undressed, examining the mabari on the table by his bed. "Something interesting?"

Dorian sets it down, and turns back toward Cullen. "You kept it," he says. "When I didn't see it downstairs, I thought you hadn't."

"It was a gift," Cullen says. "I love it."

Dorian smiles, and Cullen wants to kiss him again, but he's distracted from that thought by the flat planes of Dorian's abdomen; the sharp cuts of muscle in his arms, his chest; the light trail of hair leading down from his belly button and under the clothes he's still wearing. Slowly, like he's putting on a show, Dorian strips down to nothing.

Cullen moves without thinking, until he's on his knees in front of Dorian, looking up at him. "Can I?"

Dorian's eyes are wide, unbelieving. "Yes," he says and his voice is rough.

Cullen licks against the tip, just allowing himself to taste, get used to the heat and weight of it on his tongue. He runs his lips and tongue down the length of it, placing a hand against Dorian's hip to steady himself, and presses a kiss against the base before finally taking the head of Dorian's cock into his mouth. He doesn't hear what Dorian says, only the way his breath hitches, and exhales on a moan.

He wants to go slow, take his time, but whenever he does something right and Dorian makes a happy, pleased sound, Cullen wants to hear that even more.

"Hey," Dorian says with a light tug on Cullen's hair to get his attention. "Stand up."

Cullen slides his mouth off of Dorian's cock and watches as it bobs up and down in front of his face, resisting every urge he has to taste it again. He stands, knee giving a little twinge of pain from how he'd been resting on the hard floors, and kisses Dorian again, open mouthed and desperate.

There are fingers working the clasps of his armor and one by one pieces fall to the ground. Cullen doesn't even think to help until Dorian groans in frustration and says, "If you aren't naked soon, I will burn these clothes off of you," and gives another vicious tug on one of the leather ties. It's the perfect incentive for Cullen to get undressed as fast as he can.

"You are..." Dorian's eyes look over every inch of his body and Cullen wants so much to cover himself, not used to this kind of scrutiny. "Tell me what you want," he says, taking Cullen by the hips, pressing their groins together and sucking another mark into his collarbone.

"You," Cullen says, head foggy, rocking against Dorian. "I want," he gasps when a hand moves down, kneading the muscles of his ass and a finger presses against him, rubbing over his entrance. " _Please_."

Dorian stop putting marks up his neck and studies his face. "Have you done this before?"

"Years ago."

"We'll go slow," Dorian says, kissing him, a light press of lips on his.

Cullen opens the small drawer under the table next to his bed, taking out a glass jar, about the size of his palm, and hands it over. The oil inside is a little more than half gone which isn't anything he would be ashamed of, except the bottle is new. Dorian doesn't say anything, only raises an eyebrow as he pours some onto his fingers.

"You should get comfortable."

Cullen climbs onto the bed, holding himself up by his elbows and knees, and hugs a pillow into his chest. More oil is poured onto him, sliding down between his cheeks, dripping off of his balls. He shudders, spreading his legs wider, and sighs at the light presses of Dorian's fingers. Oil is rubbed into his skin, around them rim, as Cullen rocks his hips back, needing more. The first press inside of him feels like relief. 

"Dorian," he says.

He takes another finger easily, with only a little work, but a third has him tensing up, too much of a stretch. Dorian adds more oil, using two fingers to play with his rim, then slowly pushing in and out, pressing against that spot that forces the air out of Cullen's lungs on a moan.

"Relax," Dorian says, reaching around and stroking his cock.

Cullen tries to focus on how good he feels. The way Dorian is touching him. His hips start pumping forward and back, seeking more, wanting Dorian's fingers to go deeper, the hand on his dick to go faster. He whines, losing himself in his pleasure and frustration, and when a third finger enters him he barely notices. "Please," he says, "Dorian, I want—"

Dorian must understand, but all contact disappears; fingers sliding out and hand off his cock. For a moment he's afraid, but then Dorian is holding him steady by his hips, thumb rubbing light circles against his skin, as he guides his erection inside of Cullen until they are pressed flush against each other, and holds still.

It burns, not a lot, but Cullen reaches his arm back to hold Dorian in place. He's stretched tight, and stuffed full, and it's been far too long since he's had this. "Just give me a moment."

"Take your time," Dorian says, trailing kisses up his spine. "I should say, you do look good like this."

Cullen pinches whatever part of Dorian he's touching and Dorian retaliates by lightly biting at his shoulder. It's good, and Cullen breathes, letting himself adjust before he moves, Rolling his hips back, just a little, getting used to the feeling of having someone inside of him, and the pain eases, giving way to what he really wants.

Dorian pulls out about halfway, then snaps back in, and Cullen gasps, groans, when he does it again. The pace is hard, deep, lighting up his nerves and making him weak. He tries to push back, meet every one of Dorian's thrusts, but his arms give out and he buries his face against the bed, sweat running down his temple. He spreads his legs wider, tries to get a better angle, needing more. Dorian shifts, tilts forward, and starts pounding the head of his cock against that one spot that sends sparks up Cullen's spine and through his own erection.

His mouth is open, saliva pooling against his lips, and soft sighs and whines keep escaping him as Dorian rocks him back and forth, fucking him on his cock. When Dorian starts jerking him off, keeping in time with his thrusts, it doesn't take long for Cullen to come, orgasm ripping through him. His muscles tense, back bowing, as he spills onto the bed below, and Dorian slows his pace, gentling him through the aftershocks.

Cullen feels loose, and pliant, and sated, but— "Wait," he says when he feels Dorian start to pick up speed. "I need— I want to see your face."

Dorian pulls out, and Cullen drops down, boneless against the bed, before rolling over onto his back, and positioning himself once more under him.

"Better?" Dorian asks, pushing back in.

Cullen answers with a kiss, wrapping his legs around Dorian's waist. They stay like that for a while, going slow, easy, and Cullen smiles, laughs, when Dorian moves back to his neck, adding another mark. More evidence that this happened.

Eventually Dorian sits back, fingers gripping his thighs, holding Cullen up, as he resumes his harder pace, pounding into him, seeking his own release. When he comes he buries himself inside of Cullen, spilling deep within him. It's warm, he can feel it, and he's not sure if he likes it, but he wants it.

Cullen tightens his legs around Dorian when he tries to pull out, keeping him from moving. "Not yet," he says, "I like this. You, inside me."

Dorian huffs a laugh, draping himself over Cullen, and bracing his arms on either side of his head. "You are full of surprises. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Usually they tell me I'm boring."

"Madness," Dorian says. "They clearly don't know you like I do."

Cullen laughs. "No one knows me like you do."

"I rather like that sound of that." Dorian rolls his hips, just once, to emphasize his point, and Cullen can feel some of his come leak out from where they're still joined. "You know, I do know a spell that can get this all going again."

"That's—" Cullen thinks for a moment, weighing his trust in Dorian against his lingering fear of magic. "Maybe another time. It's not..."

"You're not ready for me to start casting spells in the bedroom, I understand," Dorian says. "Though I am intrigued by the idea of another time. I thought you might have gotten this out of your system, realised there are other options. Lots of pretty girls in the Inquisition."

"Stop it," says Cullen. "I want this. I want _you_."

"How do you want me?"

"In my bed, my life, however I can have you, for as long as you will let me."

"That," Dorian says, placing a kiss on his lips, "is exactly what I want, too."

*

The next morning Cullen wakes with Dorian in his bed. Splayed out on his stomach, arm across his chest, head tucked against his neck, and wrapped in every blanket they have, leaving Cullen naked in the early morning light, glad that his body runs hot. It's nice, better than that even, and he lets himself enjoy the moment. He yawns, shifting further down on the bed, and tucks his toes under the blankets, trying to pull some of them over to him.

"No," Dorian mumbles, throwing a leg over Cullen's, pinning him down. "I'll freeze and die."

"You won't," says Cullen, managing to wrestle some of the blankets from Dorian and using the opening to curl up along his side, twining their legs together.

Dorian cracks an eye open, staring blearily at him. "Are you aware how early it is?"

"About an hour later than I'm usually out of bed," Cullen says, pressing himself closer.

"Terrible habit, I won't put up with it." Dorian yawns, blinking both eyes open, immediately shutting them again, and moves until they're chest to chest and he can use Cullen to block out the light. He groans and yawns again, already falling back asleep. "I love you, but not this early," he says, voice fading into sleep.

Cullen's breath catches in his throat and he would swear his heart stops and starts over twice as fast. Dorian loves him. He leans his head against Dorian's shoulder, pressing a smile against his skin. Dorian _loves him_. He lets that thought swim around his head as he drifts off, content to stay in bed a while longer.

A knock on the door downstairs wakes him eventually, unsure of how much time has gone by and he's willing to ignore it, but whoever is there isn't going away.

"Deal with it," Dorian says, grabbing his pillow and covering his head.

Cullen sits up, rubbing at his eyes, and practically falls out of his bed, tangled up in all the blankets and Dorian. He shuffles around, searching for something to wear, and picks up the first pair of trousers he sees. It's as he's tying the laces on the front that he realises they're not his. He shrugs, unwilling to keep looking for his own since these fit just as well, if maybe a little tight.

It's luck and knowing how to climb the ladder by rote that gets him downstairs without injury. Undoing the lock, however, takes a few attempts before he can get it right.

"Oh, hi," says Lavellan when he finally gets the door open. "Were you asleep? I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, it's—" He breaks into a yawn. "Late night."

"Yes, well, we haven't spoken since everything happened, and I wanted to apologise for how I behaved. I know it was the desire demon, but I am sorry. You've always been a good friends and I don't want to do anything to hurt that."

"It's fine," he says. "I don't blame you for anything."

"Thank you, can I—" She stops, eyes narrowing in consideration as she looks him over, then growing wide as pink colors her cheeks. "Late night?" she says, repeating his words, and bites her lips like she’s trying not to smile.

Cullen glances down at himself, seeing for the first time the finger-sized bruises on his hips, peeking out from his trousers, and the little marks dotting his chest that Dorian sucked into his skin. He touches his neck where he knows there must be more, and clears his throat. "Right, yes. Very late."

"Well," Lavellan says, taking hold of the door handle, "it would seem that I have some things to do. Very important Inquisitor things, I'm afraid. So I'll just leave you, now. Have fun, Commander." The door shuts, and Cullen grins to himself as he locks it again.

Back in his bedroom, Dorian is at last awake, sitting up and waiting for Cullen to return. "Was that the Inquisitor?"

"Yes," says Cullen, climbing off the ladder.

"And she saw you like that?"

Cullen unlaces the trousers, letting them fall to the floor. "Yes."

"And that's not a problem?"

He crawls onto the bed and straddles Dorian's lap. "No."

"Good," says Dorian, and kisses him.


End file.
